


Bless Me Father

by miss_begonia



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4805837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_begonia/pseuds/miss_begonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, Five Times Matt Murdock Smiled.</p><p> </p><p>When Matt stands, the robe slips off him onto the floor. He grins up at his dad.</p><p>“I’m almost big enough,” he says, gesturing to the robe, and his dad’s smile falters.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says. His voice sounds funny, thick. “Yeah, I guess you are.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bless Me Father

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goshemily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshemily/gifts).



 

Matt is hiding in the closet in his dad’s bedroom, the silky fabric of his dad's boxing robe twisted around his knees. He leans forward and brushes his nose against the slats of the closet door. Everything in here smells like his dad: musty sweet, like sweat and cigarettes and Old Spice.

“You’re too good at this game, Matty,” he hears his dad call from the other room. “It’s like you can see in the dark.”

Matt laughs to himself, but on the inside. He doesn’t want his dad to hear him. He shifts. The closet is warm and he’s starting to get drowsy. He can hear his dad in the hallway, clattering around. His dad is not good at sneaking around, not nearly as good as Matt.

There’s the sound of footsteps - that creak in the boards right by the kitchen. Matt always knows when someone’s coming or going. He is awake again.

“A-ha,” his dad says, swinging open the closet door.

Light, so much light. Matt squints up at his dad. His smile glints. He’s got a scar over his eyebrow and a new bruise around his eye, a stitched-up cut near his temple. Matt did a good job with that one. He’s got pretty steady hands for an 8-year-old.

“Got you,” his dad says.

“It took you a long time,” Matt tells him. “You’re not good at this at all, Dad.”

“Nope,” his dad says cheerfully. “Get out of there now. We’ve got to get you cleaned up for church.”

When Matt stands, the robe slips off him onto the floor. He grins up at his dad.

“I’m almost big enough,” he says, gesturing to the robe, and his dad’s smile falters.

“Yeah,” he says. His voice sounds funny, thick. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

*

 

“No, but, dude,” Foggy says. “It’s like - you’ve got the whole blind thing going for you. You could clean up at this.”

“Are you saying,” Matt says slowly, “that I should use the pity girls have for me because I'm blind to hook up with them?”

Foggy nods vigorously. “That is absolutely what I’m saying.”

Matt snorts. “You are so drunk.”

“Don’t pretend like you aren’t,” Foggy says, wagging one finger at him. “You had a lot of beer at that party.”

“I had two beers,” Matt says.

He’s trying not to smile, but it’s hard when he’s around Foggy. He can hear him lurching around in their room, knocking into things. Foggy is as graceful as a elephant on acid. Matt does not need to be able to see to know that.

“You are a lying liar,” Foggy says, his voice slurring. “You must have had at least four or five.”

Matt doesn’t even bother answering. He settles onto his bed and listens to Foggy clatter around for another few minutes before he seems to find a comfortable place and collapses onto his mattress and stills.

“I don’t understand why you are always less drunk than I am,” Foggy says.

“It’s probably because I drink less,” Matt says.

“Your logic is impeccable, Murdock,” Foggy says. “You must want to be a lawyer.”

“Yes, exactly,” Matt says. “Our arguments are my way of preparing for the LSATs.”

“With that dry wit, I don’t know why you don’t have all the ladies,” Foggy says.

“Probably because all I do is hang out with you,” Matt says.

Matt likes to imagine, sometimes, that he can hear Foggy smile. He can definitely tell when his heartbeat shifts into a more comfortable, relaxed rhythm.

“Again,” Foggy says, with a sigh, “your logic is pretty solid.”

*

Claire smells like a combination of antiseptic and mild soap that Matt probably shouldn’t find so alluring. He inhales deeply and feels a sharp, stabbing pain in his abdomen, which makes sense. That is where he was stabbed.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Claire says.

He can feel her palm smooth over the bandages that encircle his waist.

“Now you tell me,” he says, and she presses harder, holding him still.

“Actually I’ve told you repeatedly not to move,” Claire says. “You are just really hard-headed.”

“If that your diagnosis?” Matt says. “Stubborn son-of-a-bitch?”

Matt didn’t mean for that to sound so flirty, except for how he totally did.

“Among other things,” Claire says, her voice going soft. He can hear her heartbeat speed up.

“Oh, really,” Matt says, leaning forward.

He should not have done that. He winces, and feels Claire place her hand on his forehead.

“I swear to God, Matt,” Claire says. “Do you like it when it hurts?”

 _Sometimes_ , he thinks, but he bites that back. She might really think he’s flirting then, but that’s not what he means. He does like when it hurts, sometimes, because it makes it real. It makes him feel like he’s doing something that matters. That echo, that reflected hurt, like he’s absorbing a tiny bit of what’s wrong with this world. But how does he explain that?

Instead he smiles at her and listens for the way she shifts, her body becoming a little bit less vigilant, a little softer. This is what he can give her.

"I should take you out," he says. "A thank you for all these times you've stitched me up."

Claire snorts.

"Let's work on you being able to walk without falling down first," Claire says.

"One step at a time," Matt murmurs, and feels her hand touch his hair, just for a second.

*

 

Karen can really drink.

Matt’s not sure if this is a good thing or not.

“Holy moley,” Foggy exclaims. “That is - wow. That is some--”

“We can stop whenever you want,” Karen says graciously.

Matt is glad he bowed out of this particular contest. He can practically hear Foggy quaking in his boots.

“I’m just saying,” Foggy says. “That is some strong stuff.”

“If you say so,” Karen says.

“I should maybe go home,” Matt puts in, because it’s getting late and he’s trying to screen out all the things he can hear but it’s getting harder. He’s starting to feel it in his bones, the vibrations of dying sirens, the groans and grunts blocks away, a symphony of human distress.

“Oh, no, Matt, don’t go,” Karen says, and her touch is feather-light on his arm, the way Karen always touches him: so carefully, like she thinks he might break. He appreciates this about Karen. She’s gentle when no one else ever is.

“Matty, she’s going to win,” Foggy says. “She’ll win and she’ll never let me live it down and--”

“You’ve dug your own grave on this one, friend,” Matt says, squeezing Foggy’s shoulder.

“You never stay,” Karen complains.

“It’s because I know when I’m beat,” Matt says. “Unlike some other people I might mention.”

“Don’t go,” Karen says, her voice going soft and high, and Matt has a moment when he thinks that maybe she knows.

“I look forward to hearing about the resolution of this tomorrow at the office,” Matt says, and smiles at Karen in a way that he hopes will mean: _You haven’t seen anything._

It more likely means: _Keep my secret_.

“Fine, be a party pooper,” Foggy says. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

No, Matt thinks as he pushes out into the night, it wouldn’t.

*

“I don’t think you understand,” Matt says through gritted teeth, “what I will do to protect this city.”

Wilson Fisk is watching him through slitted eyes. His face is round and pale above him, like a terrible moon.

“On the contrary,” Fisk says, his words precise and clear, “I think I understand exactly what you will do.”

Matt braces himself against the floor. Everything hurts. When he gets to his knees, he sees colors flash behind his eyelids.

He can hear Fisk’s heartbeat, a constant thud, never wavering.

He never wavers.

Matt thinks he can change that.

He lifts his face to Fisk’s. If he could see, they would eye-to-eye.

He smiles.

Fisk’s heartbeat stutters. It’s a small change, barely detectable, but Matt hears it.

“Let’s see,” Matt says, “how much you understand about me."

****  
  
  
  
  



End file.
